Apologies for the dearth - [I originally typed the word ‘death’
here, which would be more accurate] -of reports recently, but as has become
commonplace this season I aim to redress the paucity of Friday night football
news with a round-up of the last few weeks of the season, including the
valedictory evening for Ross Bicknell.
Here are my field notes from the final game in Ross’s long
and illustrious Friday night career:
Ha det bra, Ross!
Two teams as follows:
Blues – Paul, Johnny, Steve, Antonio, Peter, Stan, Tony, Geoff, James
Yellows – me, David, Danny, Simon, Joe, Patrick, Mick, Ian Baggies… and
Ross
Goals: Ross
came on and got a late one, Patrick snaffled up at least three,
… and that’s as far as I got before the evil world of work
took over the time I’d allocated to that particular report.
What I do recall is that I took the highly unusual, nay
unprecedented, step of fixing the teams so that the side that Ross was on would
prevail; sadly, what I could not predict was the fact that the fey indie
shyster would only arrive with about twenty minutes to go. As such, the teams
were fairly even for about 60% of the game. However, following his late arrival
Ross did manage to get on the scoresheet, although the eventual victory for the
Yellow team has to be slightly mitigated by the fact Tony was forced into goal
following a groin injury that rendered him, in effect, useless.
This highly partial team selection, coupled with Tony’s chronic
man-knack, meant a comfortable win for the Yellows, much to Tony’s (perhaps understandable)
chagrin.
Far more memorable were the post-game drinks – see photos
below – and the warmly drunken bonhomie with which we wished Ross all the very
best for him and his young family. Well played, Ross. We hope to see you again.
Now, over to the Coram Fields jazz correspondent – Big ‘Chuff’
Gennaro – for one of his inimitable match reports:
Dear Simon, content for the blog. Our favourite ersatz
Irishman did not confirm or deny that his children were born out of wedlock. If
you want a real belly laugh ring up Mick's voicemail at the FT. He comes over
all public school ya and he is on holiday until April 9th.
Why were you
dancing and making loads of noise?
And when I
snare a Spanish bint [Ed’s note – there was no ‘snaring’ that I could remember, just
moderate bothering], could the lads stop
saying I am married to a senora. Her name is Selva (Jungle), the senorita I
introduced to the whole gang. A good translation is "Wild Thing". I
kept humming the Jimi Hendrix version from Electric Ladyland.
Un embrazo,
Pablo
PS I need to
do more work on my Flamenco dancing
So there you have it. To defend Mick, he said that he’d
received a plaintive message on his work phone that week from a Spanish speaking
gentleman with a treasure trove of sporting and musical memories.
Onto last Friday’s game now, the grand finale of the
current campaign. Despite the fact we have played so deep into the Summer that
our professional idols are already back in pre-season, we had a highly
respectable turn out on Friday 20th July, with no fewer than
seventeen players reporting for duty, most of them the dashing young blades
based in the glamorous world of corporate finance. Here are your two teams -
Blues: Michele, Peter, Simon Gas, me, Joe, Mick, Bristol
Paul, Andrew
Yellows: Adolpho, Alessandro, Antonio, Will, Danny, Paul,
Nick, Stu, Patrick C
A couple of late line-up changes: Josh’s non-appearance meant
that the Blues ended up with Joe while the ever-so-slightly-late Antonio turned
from Blue to Yellow. This gave the Yellows a one-man advantage and that
numerical weighting, combined with their side boasting the not inconsiderable
ball playing talents of Will and Antonio (and Adolpho), meant that they
dominated possession in a manner reminiscent of recent Spanish national teams.
Essentially, think of this game as one of those statistical
oddities that Opta occasionally put out with one team enjoying three quarters
of the possession but not managing any more shots on target than the team
without the ball, (Jose Mourinho would have been proud of the Blue team).
As for the goals, Peter got us off the mark by smashing home
a free kick for the Blues that almost took the net off, while Michele bagged
the other two for the Blue team: one a deft flick from the outside of his right
boot and the other following some fine counter attacking from Peter.
Not to be outdone, the Yellows also drilled home a free kick
with Antonio being the recipient of some loose defending, while Will claimed
the final goal of the 2018/19 season following a cross from Stu and a glancing
effort that he or may not have meant which just eluded the otherwise immaculate
Simon Gas in goals. A word for a player I’d not met before, Patrick C (one of
the young financiers who generously find time to play with all the old
duffers), who managed to smother one of Peter’s trademark howitzers from all of
about eighteen inches during his stint in goal. Impressive.
And props to Mick for one of the funnier moments of the
season, after he accused Bristol Paul of virtue signalling after he dribbled
the ball up the halfway line before passing the ball back to the opposition
following a disputed handball call, thereby wasting about two minutes of the
game.
Final score: Blues 3 – Yellows 3
All in all a good game to end the season, with everyone
benefitting from a thorough work out in the wilting heat. And thus to the pub
for a wonderful evening of Summer ale, chat and al fresco vertical drinking.
Topics under discussion included the World Cup, Kylian Mbappe, holiday plans
(including Simon’s journalistic trips to Seoul and Montreal), plastic
recycling, flies and the merits of younger men enjoying time with older ladies.
The usual, in other words.
Have a good Summer and see you all in September.
